


Exulansis

by FuriousQueenMarmaroth



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, couple's first time, past trauma, relationship based more than sex based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 12:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18499405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuriousQueenMarmaroth/pseuds/FuriousQueenMarmaroth
Summary: Exulansis: n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.Death and Asha's first time as a couple has been long overdue, but put off by an incident in Death's past. They have, finally, come to that threshold.





	Exulansis

Seduction. It was a game Death and Asha often played. Quite literally a dance between Life and Death. They were often found casting longing looks at each other, or exchanging impish touches. Social functions that involved dances usually featured them swaying and spinning in an elegant mating ritual.

Not that it ever ended the way everyone assumed it did.

Death usually became timorous when she made a move that was beyond the flirts, kisses and playful bites. He did want to, he had really tried his hardest, but the only thoughts that entered his head weren’t conducive of a sexual venture. When she pushed against his chest or moved to expose his manhood, all he could think of was the incident that had rendered him more or less the way he was.

The last thing he saw on his retreats were her pained and frustrated tears as she tried to figure out what happened. She didn’t understand, but he didn’t understand all that much either. He loved Asha and did want to become intimate, of that he was certain. Everything else was up in the air.

Fall arrived, and she had to depart from civilization, as per an ancient rule that no one would tell him the reason behind. He wasn’t aware as to why he wasn’t invited to join her on her exile, or as to why the gates were to remain closed at the first sign of frost.

All anyone said was to ask Asha.

When she finally returned to the Capital, and subsequently him, in the spring, he was the first to visit and was determined to know exactly what it all meant. That being said, he fell into a pleasant enough conversation about her travels, and didn’t wish to darken the girl’s mood with past history.

Her back was to him as she poured water in the seemingly empty pots around her room. She yammered about nothing in particular, making sure Death didn’t feel uncomfortable or pressured into filling the silence. The floral dress she wore showed off the tawny skin of her back, littered with the white lines of old whip scars she wore as a testament to her survival.

 _Presents from Lilith._  His bare face contorted with an emotion he couldn’t quite place as he laid eyes on the marks he had only heard of, but never actually seen. _That damned harlot could never stand the word no._

With his pulse drowning out all of his thoughts, he tenderly raised a hand to press the tips of his fingers to her exposed lower back. It was an attempt to be closer, to have at least a glimpse of what she felt. She felt like the first thaw, her very skin bubbling with the raw life magic of spring.

It was… exciting.

“Your hands are cold.”

“I’ll stop in a minute.” His other hand pulled the thick curtain of white hair to one side, allowing an icy finger to trail over her shoulder blades. “Or maybe I won’t. Haven’t decided yet.”

“Hmm, maybe I can-” Her hands reached around in an attempt to fondle him.

“No.” It came out a little more forceful than he intended. A long sigh escaped his lungs as he pressed the woman’s body against himself, “Persephone, Iron Queen, light of my life. Please, let me have this.”

Whatever rendered the Reaper polite was something to be taken seriously, saying ‘please’ was one thing he never did. Whatever the reason, it must have been deeply personal, so she let go of her need to challenge him with her next breath.

Cold fingers explored her, lazily caressing her inner thighs, her abdomen, even going so far as to ever so gently stroke her eyelids. Sensual. Delicate.

This was not long lived, as his member pressed against her spine, his lips became hungry and his fingers became wanton. She was a beautiful and complex instrument to play, tuned to perfection. Each bite, slap and stroke emitted a new raw, intense, delicious sound of want. Her hands grasped desperately at his arms, his neck, his hair.

There was a sensation of being lifted as she reached a high-pitched end, of her feet no longer touching the floor. The illusion was broken when she hit the bed and realized the nephilim had actually thrown her.

She watched him undress as if she was unwrapping him herself. He was truly a work of art: his broad shoulders, his defined stomach, all the way down to his thighs toned by centuries of riding without stirrups. But on her way back up, she noticed his chest rising with rapid, shallow breaths.

“Death?” His face looked so horrified she closed her legs to hide whatever it was upsetting him.

They were immediately forced back open as he settled himself between her thighs, cradled in her hips. He still looked vaguely panicked as he slid easily into her, the look breaking into a relieved smile and a visceral moan as he made it all the way in without incident.

He swore as he settled on a hard and slow rhythm, acutely aware of how fast the curtains were falling on his act. It had been millennia since his last partner, and his hand was a cheap date that didn’t care much for stamina or quality.

He was a fairly vocal partner. He may have said nothing apart from “mine”, but his grunts and moans told a narrative sweeter than any poetry that could have been written, a testament to his affection.

At his release, she giggled giddily and peppered him with kisses and praise. He concluded with a kiss to her forehead and pulled a blanket up to cover their naked and sweaty bodies. She complained half-heartedly of washing up as he wrapped her in his unyielding grip and pulled her to rest against his chest.

His heart spoke of peace, of the  _rightness_  of it all. He found himself lulling into a state of contentment so foreign it bordered on unsettling.

For the first time in decades, they drifted into a peaceful sleep, using the other as a charm to ward away the nightmares that plagued their dreams. Perhaps even one day, they would let the other know exactly what those were.


End file.
